The Marriage Recipe. Michele Dunaway
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glared at her but didn’t say another word. Instead he turned, retreated, and moments later the door to his office slammed, the sound resonating throughout the kitchen.
The staff looked at Rachel in obvious appreciation before quickly returning to work. Only Glynnis followed Rachel to her locker. “Never would have believed that if I hadn’t seen it. You’ll be the talk of the crew for days. Can’t say he didn’t have it coming to him.”
“You’ve been great to work with,” Rachel said, her adrenaline beginning to ebb as the reality of what she’d done crept in. She removed her Alessandro’s apron and tossed it on a table.
“Call me if you ever need me,” Glynnis said. “I’d come work for you anyday.”
“Thanks, but I’ll have to let you know. I’m somewhat unemployable at the moment.” Rachel tugged her coat from her locker and grabbed her purse. She dumped the padlock and key into her bag, then she reached up to the top shelf and took down the only other item in the locker. She kept most of her recipes at her apartment, but she’d made copies of the desserts she baked for Alessandro’s and stored them here in a small notebook.
“You’re giving him those?” Glynnis asked.
“Hell, no,” Rachel said with a wry laugh. “He’s not going to sue me, and he can rot somewhere hot if he does.”
“So what will you do? You don’t have the money to fight him if you can’t work,” Glynnis said, obviously concerned.
“Oh, I’ve got a job waiting for me,” Rachel declared, not wanting Glynnis to worry. Rachel would have to put her tail between her legs to ask for the position, but once she walked in the door, she knew the owners wouldn’t turn her away.
“You got a job? Where?” Glynnis asked.
“Kim’s Diner,” Rachel said, the idea taking hold.
Glynnis appeared confused. “Kim’s? Is it in Jersey?”
“No. Morrisville.” Rachel saw her expression. “Indiana.”
“Never heard of it,” Glynnis admitted.
That was the kicker. “No one has.” The adrenaline of the moment had worn off completely and Rachel trembled as she digested the implications of her rash decision. She’d hate leaving New York. She loved the city. She vowed to make her exile only temporary. She plastered a brave smile on her face.
“You know what the tough do when the going gets rough?” she asked.
Glynnis shook her head.
Rachel picked up her bag and gave Glynnis a hug. Hopefully, she’d see her friend soon. “The tough go home.”
Chapter Two
“Who would have thought coming home would cause this much stir,” Rachel said as she put away the last of the clean dishes.
“Now, don’t let all the gossips get you down.” Her grandmother Kim said as she handed Rachel one last plate. The diner was only open for breakfast and lunch, and as soon as longtime patron Harold Robison finished his last cup of coffee, the workday would be over. Harold liked to linger, and for years had ignored the sign indicating that Kim’s closed at precisely three o’clock. “Everyone’s just glad to see you, that’s all.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Rachel told her grandmother. She’d been back in Morrisville for two full days now. Once she’d stormed out of Alessandro’s, she’d been a woman of action. One day and two phone calls later and she’d had her place sublet. One more phone call had gotten her car out of its Queens storage lot. A week after tossing cake on her former fiancé, Rachel had been on the road, driving from New York to Indiana with her personal possessions loaded in the trunk.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t escaped town quickly enough to avoid a courier-delivered envelope from Anthony and Marco Alessandro’s lawyer. Not only had they docked her final paycheck for the cost of replacing Marco’s suit, leaving her with a mere six dollars and ten cents, but they’d also given her thirty days to turn over her recipes or face civil action.
The amount they’d valued her recipes at had been astronomical. The morning after the cake flinging, Rachel had prayed that Marco would see how stupid and silly they were both being, but apparently, he was determined to punish her.
She no longer had rent expense, but she did have credit card debt. Now she was about to add legal bills to an already stretched budget. She refused to take charity from her mother and grandmother—it was bad enough she was back in her childhood bedroom, which had pretty much remained unchanged since the day she’d left for New York City. Her window still faced the Morris house; the only difference was that Colin Morris, her friend since childhood, no longer occupied the room across the way. As youngsters, they’d used flashlights and Morse code—get it? Morse/Morris code, they’d laugh—and sent messages to each other until late at night.
For income, Rachel had negotiated eleven dollars an hour to work at Kim’s. Her grandmother had wanted to pay her more, but Rachel knew that any money for a higher salary would come from her grandmother’s pocket and not the restaurant’s cash register. Kim Palladia lived comfortably, but Rachel didn’t want to be in debt to her family. It was time she faced the music.
Starting with heading to the law office of Lancaster and Morris, which had provided legal expertise to the town of Morrisville for over fifty years.
Rachel tugged on her coat. She’d walk across Main Street, through the parking lot, and be in the law-office lobby before her bravado deserted her. She dreaded hearing what Bruce Lancaster would have to say. He was one of the sharpest legal minds in the state and a former childhood playmate, but she had to admit she was petrified he’d tell her that Marco had a legitimate claim to her recipes and she’d have to turn them over.
“I’m leaving,” she called.
Her grandmother waved. “See you at home tonight,” she said. She’d moved in eight years ago, adding another body to the Palladia homestead. The century-old Victorian home, which stood on a half-acre lot, was really too big for just two people. But it had been in Rachel’s father’s family for two generations, and Rachel’s mother simply couldn’t bear to part with it. Rachel knew that her mother hoped she’d eventually move home and raise a family in the old place. She hated disappointing her, but figured all those years in New York City were a clue that she didn’t want to be a small-town girl.
The blustery March wind whipped down the street, causing the Easter decorations hanging from light poles to sway. Morrisville had signs for every holiday. The current ones displayed a white bunny carrying an egg-filled basket and advertised the annual Knights of Columbus Easter-egg event the middle of the month.
Rachel gathered her coat closer, and soon was inside the first set of huge wooden doors. She crossed the black-and-white tile floor and pulled on the next set. Lancaster and Morris was situated in the former county seat, an old court-houselike, three-story building complete with a rotunda. Colin Morris used to say there were two coveted offices in the place: the Morris office, which overlooked Main Street, and the Lancaster office, which overlooked the town park. Rachel strode over to the receptionist, seated behind a huge desk.
“May I help you?” the girl asked.
“I’m here to see Bruce Lancaster. If he’s available,” Rachel added hastily.
“Do you have an appointment?” She had to be about twenty, Rachel decided, and already she had a wedding ring on her finger.
“No.” Gosh, she really was an idiot. “I’m Rachel Palladia. My grandmother owns Kim’s Diner. She’s a client here.” Rachel had no idea whose, but Lancaster and Morris had handled both her father’s and her grandfather’s estates.
“Mr. Lancaster is out of town for the next two weeks,” the receptionist said politely. “He and his wife—”
“Oh, yes, Christina. I didn’t attend their